What Would Happen if We Kissed?
by pixie1
Summary: Written for the Quickening Lyric Wheel. This is mostly freeverse. It's just one Immortal's thoughts on life, sex, and Quickenings. *slashy*


--The following is weird. Ever read a story of mine that wasn't weird? I mean, there's either guys in skirts, BDSM, or the Rocky Horror Picture Show in all my fic. We should just expect weird by now.--  
  
Title: What Would Happen if We Kissed?  
Author: pixie (Michelle Wilson)  
Rating: PG-15 for language and slashy sexual content.  
Disclaimer: Quickenings belong to the owners of the Highlander world, not me. If you're uncomfortable with bisexuality or are not old enough to rent "Titanic" without the clerk staring you down and asking you if you've hit puberty, get out now. Why would anyone *want* to rent "Titanic"? Um, Kate Winslet's tits. Duh.  
Author's Notes: Okay, this story is kind of odd. I really like to play with words and some of this is better if used as a solo performance piece. It was written for a Lyric Wheel and I broke the rules a little because I never actually used a Highlander character; however, you can pretend the unnamed protagonist of this little fic is a Highlander character. This is slashy either way you look at it (either a guy has sex with a guy then kisses a girl or a girl has sex with a guy and kisses a girl) but not overtly so. So anyhoo, if you're not open to bisexuality I suggest you go away now. :) Lyrics are at the bottom. Katchoo gave me Goodbye Earl by the Dixie Chicks. Hehe, Pretty tough lyrics and the story has nothing to do with the theme of the song but oh well...  
  
  
**What Would Happen if We Kissed?**  
By: pixie  
  
*  
  
The lightening sprawls across the evening sky like spilt paint though not a cloud hovers in a hundred miles. The power surges through my veins, ecstasy and agony, different but the same. Are they the same? The pain is the pleasure and the pleasure is the pain. My body quivers, a moan slipping past my lips, then a scream, a scream of pain. Or is it? Who can tell? Who really cares? Even if the stars crash down upon me as the electricity surges through my veins, enriching my blood in power no mortal dare embrace, I will not notice. Let it end, let it all end. This is good, this is hell, this is... what I'm here for.  
  
*  
  
He plunges deeper and I moan, my stripped down senses raw to his power. I scream and we pulse together like some freakish modern painting, grunting in the pure seduction of a body on a body, pounding, in, out, in in out, the rhythm like the drummer in a high school band--enthusiastic but irregular, slamming into my body at odd times, making the moment come even faster. Mouth to mouth, CPR, sex, god, what a mouth, on top of me, loving me, wanting me. I shiver and writhe in the exquisite glory of it all. I gasp for breath, swallowing forbidden fruit and not missing purity at all. I live for the sin.  
  
*  
  
The bolts rake across me, sending me into spasms, thrusting my body across the alley, the raw power of the human soul transferring into me with a hard shock, an ass fuck of electricity as my body doubles. I watch the sparks pulse across my hand and flow into me, in, out, in in out. No more, I can't take any more, yes I can, more, please, please, more. Everything is bright and shiny then black then shining again like the moon in an untouched clearing on a crisp night in the middle of fall. I can't speak. Oh god... I can't take much more of this. I can't see, I can't feel, I need *more*.  
  
*  
  
Our bodies melt together and I whimper, loudly, no it's a moan, no a scream. I don't know, I can't hear anything, it's too much, too powerful. His tongue slips past my lips and I gasp into his mouth, breathing his air, touching his tongue. He bites my lip and blood pours, coppery and pure like a melted penny, acrid and strong. I suck at those juices as he fucks me, loves me, holds me, worship him, need him, have him. We're not animals but I wish we were.  
  
*  
  
As the blue and silver bolts fade into the starry night sky, I stand, teetering precariously on my own two feet. My hands shake and my black Dr. Martins clomp as I stumble out of the deserted alleyway. I pull my Humphrey Bogart-esque jacket tighter around my thin frame and flip my long black bangs out of my face. My heart beats fast with the exhilaration that comes from an almost fatal jolt of energy and adrenaline; I can feel the blood pounding in my head and I feel tense, tightened, aware, *alive*, for once in my god-forsaken life. It is the elation that brings the urge to sing, to strip, to love, to *fuck*, to hate, to kill, to scream, to cry and any other number of fervent infinitives.  
  
I find the predatory gait I practiced to perfection in the many, many years that made up my life and take off down New York's busy streets, ignoring the steam that rises from the concrete slabs beneath my booted feet. I stop suddenly in front of a small, crumbling building with "The Queen of Clubs" splashed in blue neon over its heavy black door, oddly resembling the violet lightening that had ripped me to the core moments before.  
  
Perhaps now I can explain, perhaps I can relate these feelings, these yearnings, that evoke such paroxysms of defenselessness and speechless resistance within my entire body with people who, if I can convert the buzzing, orgasmic spasms that possess my out of control senses into unworthy speech, might understand. And so I enter the club to greet the ones who are the last vestiges of an era long deceased, a mysterious abode of art and sex and the poetry of politics meets madness meets spoken word meets music meets pleasure loves pain. The old (yet so young) eyes stare straight through my slim form, not caring if the radiation from those dozens of shimmering x-ray beams cause tumors to erupt within my soul. They are the last of a tribe of people whose society was raped by the rise of a thing called capitalism and left sick and dying with that virus the insurance company won't cover, the acquired immune deficiency syndrome. And yet people like me and they are there to offer up poetic words and AZT to the ravaged carcass of la boheme.  
  
And so I take the stage. I stand there amidst the black lights and blacker walls staring out into the black box theatre and seeing only black. Black coffee, black clothes, black hair (or is that purple, there in the back?), and black moods. And I begin to speak, my words rhythmic, but not as the poets of the decade before, not as the black jazz musicians of New Orleans, not as the Latino rappers of Queens, not as of those who came before. I speak as this generation, this time, not as some bleaker past that I wish to remember not. I speak. I just speak.  
  
"Electricity. In my veins. It surged through my body, fucking my blood vessels, aching, aching. It was pain, it was pleasure, it was heaven, it was hell. It was an oxymoron for a foxy moron who just wants to be held, just wants to be loved. What would happen if we kissed? It was surging, it was smooth, it was brutal, it was soft, it was clean, it was dirty, very, very dirty. It was good, I was bad, it was everything even when I am nothing."  
  
I take a deep breath and stare into the audience, sensing their discomfort and reveling in its sweet taste. The hair in the back is most certainly purple.  
  
"Hey, don't I know you? What would happen if we kissed? It hurt, oh it hurt, but it felt so good that who really cared? I sank to the floor. I sink. I sank, I hit bottom, nowhere to go but down, down, down, farther and farther, drowning in the cum in my mouth, nowhere to go but down then up then down then in then out in out in out in out. It tasted all right to me, honey. The lights, the lights, not the sun, not the moon, nothing Edison ever dreamed. Ecstasy, XTC, Utopia by Mr. Thomas More... sex, more money, more power, more fame, more stamina, more CPR in public places, more places to eat, more food, did I say more money? What would happen if we kissed?"  
  
The traces of bestial energy have not even begun to fade. I feel as though I can speak forever and so I shall speak forever and what I speak I shall spit at my audience causing their energy to swirl and fade and rise and moan. I speak.  
  
"Strip my senses down, they're gone and I'm defenseless (not to mention utterly senseless) but who really cares? You feeling weak? I can't seem to make sensual. I meant sense. I think I'm going to spontaneously combust. Touch me again. What would happen if we kissed? The room is spinning and you act like you don't notice. Do you notice me or her or him or me or them? What would happen if we kissed? Dammit, I've forgotten my line, my cue, my mother's birthday, my name, my political convictions, my sexuality, my gender, my age, my social security number... Bisexual, trisexual, Dorothy just wanted to go homosexual, bisexual the way, what's the dildo-oh-oh-oh-OH-OH-ORgasm? I think I've lost it. In the back of a '57 Chevy with the windows up, fogging, as I hump a member of the neighboring school's football team and I'm too high and too drunk to realize what I'm doing (and who I'm doing) and to be disgusted with my self... image that is. What would happen if we kissed? The room is spinning, electricity, I have to get my sickness off, crack, smack, shit, fuck, bang, ouch, I've fallen and I can't get up. Isn't anyone going to help me? I thought not. You wanna lay down and sleep? Electricity. What would happen if we kissed?  
  
"Would I wake up in an empty bed at a cheap motel on Avenue A with a twenty on the bedside table as if that made all the pain and shame go away or would it be a fairy tale with a Prince and a white horse and an evil stepmother who fingers me up the ass at night? That is the question. Oh what is Love? It is nor hand nor foot nor uterus nor penis nor any other part belonging to sheep, cow, or pig. That, my dear, is the question. What is life? Why are we here? Why does it hurt? And what would happen if we kissed?"  
  
*  
  
I exit the club through the back way, hoping to escape that black abyss unscathed. I am stopped only feet from my rescue by a thin young woman with badly dyed hair, coffee stained teeth, and makeup to cover her bruises.  
  
"Hi, I just wanted to ask, what were you talking about, up there on stage? I mean, it was great, but what were you talking about?"  
  
I smile, knowing that she will never understand. Knowing that if I explain to this virgin little mortal about the raw power, the pure sin of it all, of sex, of the Quickening, of the *world*, she would not understand. I lean forward and kiss her, ever so gently, on that pretty little mouth of hers. My tongue slips past her lips and my mouth melts into hers like milk chocolate left out on Aunt Daisy's front porch during a Georgia August. Must I pretend I'm innocent? Never again. I pull away from her and from the look on her face I know she's felt it; she's felt the spark, the last vestiges of electricity, and tasted the semen dried on my soft lips. I walk away.  
  
Dixie Chicks - Goodbye Earl  
  
Thanks to Heath66143@yahoo.com for these lyrics.  
  
Maryanne and Wanda were the best of friends  
All through their high school days  
Both members of the 4H club  
Both active in the FFA  
After graduation Maryanne went out,  
Looking for a bright new world  
Wanda looked all around this town,  
And all she found was Earl  
Well it wasn't two weeks after she got married  
That Wanda started getting abused  
She put on dark glasses, and long sleeved blouses  
And makeup to cover her bruises  
Well she finally got the nerve to file for divorce  
She let the law take it from there  
But Earl walked right through that restraining order  
And put her in intensive care  
Right away Maryanne flew in from Atlanta on a red eye, midnight flight  
She held Wanda's hand, and they worked out a plan  
And it didn't take them long to decide that Earl had to die...  
  
Goodbye Earl  
Those black eyed peas, they tasted all right to me  
Earl You feelin' weak?  
Why don't you lay down and sleep, Earl  
Ain't it dark, wrapped up in that tarp, Earl?  
The cops came by to bring Earl in  
They searched the house high and low  
Then they tipped their hats and said  
Thank you ladies, if you hear from him, let us know  
Well, the weeks went by and spring turned to summer  
And summer faded into the fall  
And it turns out he was a missing person  
Who nobody missed at all  
So the girls bought some land at a roadside stand  
Down on Highway 109  
They sell Tennessee ham and strawberry jam  
And they don't lose any sleep at night  
Cause Earl had to die...  
  
Goodbye Earl  
We need a break...  
Let's go out to the lake, Earl  
We'll pack a lunch, and stuff you in the trunk, Earl  
Is that all right?  
Good! Let's go for a ride, Earl.  
  
Hey!  
Well, hey, hey, hey!  
Aw, hey, hey, hey!  
Well, hey, hey, hey  



End file.
